Darkest Before Dawn
by mad half hour
Summary: Somewhere inside the demented mind of the awakened Fourteenth Noah lies Allen Walker. Kanda just has to find him, and bring him home. Yullen


A/N- This is heavily inspired by _The Dark Knight_, or more accurately, the Joker from _The Dark Knight_. Ledger's performance really got this flowing,

Warnings: Um, some language (Kanda), some blood, and lewd suggestions involving the use of spoons

Notes: The crazy, random italics used in the Fourteenth's speech is not some freak computer accident or anything like that. He just speaks strangely, putting odd emphasis on different parts of some words. This is a challenge to myself more than anything, so I apologize if it bothers any readers (feel free to tell me if it does).

Summary: Somewhere inside the demented mind of the awakened Fourteenth Noah lies Allen Walker. Kanda just has to find him, and bring him home. Yullen

oOoOo

**Darkest Before Dawn**

**Chapter One**

**Splintered **

oOoOo

The hall is still ringing with laughter when Kanda gets off of the lift and enters the more secured holding areas, in the very bottom of the new Headquarters, far, far below ground level. Small levels of water have collected on the metal floor in puddles, and its entirety is slick with the moisture, making the samurai's boots squeak loudly. Not that it matters, because the sound is easily covered by the god-awful laughter, if it can even be called that. Its pitch reaches a frightening, almost inhumane degree, and fragments itself as it flows down the hallway, up and down and shattered enough to chill most people to the core.

Kanda seems unaffected as he makes his way through the twisted hallways-something that can only be described as a maze constructed of titanium-enforced walls, with hallways and corridors that go on forever to beguile anyone who enters…or attempts to exit-with familiar steps that speak of countless visits. His ink black hair is in its usual high ponytail, giving his narrow, sharp features an even stricter countenance. His ocean-blue eyes are narrowed, whether in distaste, annoyance, or something much more hostile is unknown. Kanda has little tolerance for anything other than seriousness today, it would seem.

After taking three successive lefts, then a right, then another left, the swordsman walks down a hallway with only one door, which lies several yards away, straight ahead. There are no other turns in this direction, and no other doors, unless you include the row of reinforced metal, airlock doors that descend from the ceiling when security is engaged. Kanda knocks three times against this door, the maze's end, and waits for it to swing open. The moment he has steps in entirely, it swings shut behind him, and the loud clicking of multiple locks being replaced is strangely loud in his ears, compared to the laughing that had plagued his entire trip. The room is very obviously soundproofed.

Kanda places a thermos on the table in front of him, which is confiscated by a man in a white lab coat that Kanda doesn't know the name of. He goes off, probably to test its contents, and the samurai can't help but wonder just what they think he could put inside of it that would help anyone imprisoned. Poison would just kill them, and he would never be able to pull something like a bomb off. He is much too straight forward for that kind of thing anyway. If he wanted to assist in a breakout, Mugen would more than suffice.

"It's tea," he tells them uselessly, before another door closes and the scientist is behind it. Just like last time, and the time before that, and every other previous meeting since the second. Turning to face the opposite direction his eyes meet with those of Komui Lee. "The insulation inside of the air vents isn't helping very much. You can still hear his fucking laughing from the labs' entrance."

How many people would go crazy if all the rooms and labs themselves weren't soundproofed?

"We'll see what we can do, but unless we close the air vents, I don't think we can stop it. Obviously, closing the vents is not an option."

Komui looks tired. His white coat looks as if it hasn't been taken off in days, and his hat is nowhere in sight, showing off the stringy mess that has become of his black hair. His face is bares obvious stubble, darkness is smeared underneath his eyes like paint, and haggard can barely be stretched to include the entirety of his appearance. His hands shake faintly, most likely a result of too little food and sleep and too much caffeine.

"Che." Kanda clicks his tongue irritably at the man's appearance, disgusted, though perhaps just a little sympathetic. The man cares far too much about the situation, and Rouvelier and Link are no doubt making things several times worse for him. "Take better care of yourself or you'll just make Lenalee upset again, stupid Sister Complex."

Komui allows himself a small, amused smile at the almost concerned words, hidden behind his Yoshi-print coffee mug. Over the years the Exorcists have become something precious to him, though not nearly as much as Lenalee. He carefully wipes away the traces of the warm expression as he places the mug down, which isn't hard, considering the utter blackness of the coffee inside. Nothing at all like his precious sister's coffee. He nods quietly, almost imperceptibly.

A moment of silence passes between them after this exchange, tense minutes in which unspoken words jab at the two of them painfully. They know what needs to be said, but neither seems capable of breaking the silence, or perhaps, neither wants to admit that it must be done.

In the end, it is Kanda who takes the initiative. Hesitation and he have never been companions in the past, and it seems as though he isn't about to let anything forge between them.

"Has he shown any progress?"

Komui's face sours almost immediately at the question. "Not in the slightest," he admits quietly, eyes drawing to the door facing north, bolted shut with several locks and heavy, iron bars. His violet eyes are dark, no doubt mentally imagining the person behind that door. "He refuses to answer our questions, refuses to commit his loyalties to the Black Order, and whenever other Exorcists enter the room he lashes out if they have any traces of Innocence on them. Whenever we try to persuade him he just starts laughing again."

The smile Komui directs at Kanda is bitter, pained from countless failures, fruitless attempts to regain something lost.

"You're the only one who affects him at all, Kanda-kun."

Kanda hates the way people look at him, eyes filled with so much feeble hope, now that word of this fact has gotten around. It disgusts him, how they have the gall to act as if they like him when before they had felt him cold and not worth their effort, and all because of his connections to _him_. Because, when they look at Kanda, they aren't really looking at the swordsman; all the Finders and Exorcists and Scientists are looking past him to what he may be able to do. They look at the possibility of _him_ returning.

The samurai rolls his eyes, annoyance clear on his face. "I still don't understand why. Before all this crap started he hated everything about me."

Komui shakes his head, eyes, which have never strayed from that god forsaken door for long, almost gentle. It mixes oddly with the sardonic smile on his lips, jeers at the situation. "He never hated anyone…except for maybe the Earl."

At this statement Kanda grudgingly grunts an affirmative. The stupid bleeding heart rarely hated, and before Lavi had explained his short fight with the Earl to Kanda, he had thought the boy wasn't capable of such feelings. He loved the Akuma, held the disgusting things in his heart as if they were precious, and he continued to call the Noah human, despite their continued cruelty and sadism to both himself and his fellows. Kanda supposes that, despite their constant arguments and shared insults and slights, the Moyashi had felt no real antagonism towards him, except, perhaps, a small rivalry.

Before anything else can be said between the two of them the nameless man returns with the thermos. Kanda takes it wordlessly from the scientist's weak fingers, and grips it tightly, feeling for any lingering heat. Thankfully, it feels warmer than it had when it was taken away, so he assumes it had been heated by some kinder member of the Science Department put on this case. Briefly, he recalls the blubbering friend of the idiot Suman, and how he began to cling to Allen like the boy was some sort of god for trying to save the Fallen.

Unconsciously his grip tightens the heat under his grip increasing. Kanda focuses on the heat quickly as a means of distraction. Good. Cold tea in the frigid rooms down here hardly sounds appealing.

It only takes a handful of strides before Kanda is standing before the heavily secured door, even with all the clutter on the floor and the amount of desks and people lingering about. He waits as someone from the control center in an adjoining room to the left begins the process of opening the door. Several internal locks click rapidly, followed by the hiss of an airlock being released. The door opens a sliver as the pressure pushing it against the right border of the threshold is lost. A metallic whirring begins as the bars still in place are drawn into hollow compartments along the left wall, which thud dully when they disappear from view. The remaining locks giving way are barely audible as the sound of the howling laughter leaks from the open door. Several scientists flinch noticeably when the door swings open, allowing complete audible reception.

Kanda enters the pure white cell briskly, and the door hisses closed behind him. He knows more than hears that the other security measures are following suit. The laughter is even louder in here, at its origin, rushing into his ears like a deluge of water, pooling inside of his head, flooding his thoughts. For a moment he is well and truly overwhelmed by the unhinged laughing, which belongs to that of a mad man.

But the moment passes, the water recedes, and Kanda finds himself able to concentrate on the small room, about half the size of the labs themselves. From the floor to the walls to the little bed in the room's corner, and even the table and two chairs placed in its center, everything is painfully white. The lack of color, as if the world has been drenched in bleach, makes the room feel vaguely unnatural, gives the impression of a crushing eternity.

White has always been Kanda's least favorite color.

As Kanda adjusts to both the whiteness of the room and the ceaseless laughter splintering itself on the walls the man is made aware of another sound. Barely audible, veiled-possibly intentionally-by the prisoner, is the sound of scratching.

It is almost sickening, the way the Noah can nearly blend into the scenery. Kanda's eyes nearly miss him as he scans the room, and he loathes the reason as to why he can find him. With hair and clothes so very white, it is the gray skin that alerts Kanda's eyes to a break in the constant color of the room.

The next is the streak of red slowly drifting its way down the wall.

"Oi, Baka, stop mutilating yourself!" Kanda moves swiftly to the prisoner's side, placing the thermos on the table on the way, and grabs his right arm, ignoring how the left is swathed in heavy amounts of seals and hanging limply by his side. The hand attached to the thin wrist is slick with blood, the nails blunt, broken, or ripped off completely in two cases.

The Fourteenth, still laughing without restraint, looks away from the wall reluctantly. His eyes, gleaming an eerie amber under the artificial light of the room, drag along the hand grasping his wrist, up Kanda's arm, and to the man's face, looking at him with a vague, half-present gaze. Something that had been clouding his vision seems to lift upon recognition, though, because the disgusting eyes widen and regain focus. Abruptly, the boy ceases his demented laughter, allowing it to die out with amused chuckling and small fits of giggles.

When silence has been achieved, the Noah licks his lips, which are pulled taut into a sickening smile across the gray plains of his face. "It's _ni_ce to see you ag_ain_, Yu d_arl_ing. I've been _wor_king on a p_ict_ure for you. L_ike_ it?" He gestures to the wall he had been facing with his injured hand, splattering it with droplets of blood. "Opps," he giggles, eyes immediately focusing on the trails they leave behind with a frightening intensity.

The Fourteenth had begun the picture by using his fingernails to carve images into the wall. The lines are blunt and heavily broken apart, mostly straight but for a few angular curves, and depict what Kanda guesses are the ruins of a church-Headquarters. Crudely drawn bodies are strewn everywhere on the scene, and Kanda feels lightly nauseous whenever he recognizes someone.

"That one's _Le_na_lee_," the slight boy whispers to him, distinctly conspiratorially. He taps her drawn corpse with a bloody fingertip, and laughs at the wet stain. "She's in the _la_ke from those _dr_eams she has; I th_ink_ she'd look _ve_ry _be_au_ti_ful _drow_ning. Her hair _wou_ld sp_read_ out _ev_e_ry_whe_re_, if it got _long_er." He spreads his fingers out and sweeps them through the air like a child trying to demonstrate something. "It _sui_ts her."

It is clear to Kanda that somewhere along the way the Noah's nails had begun to break, his skin tearing, and his broken fingertips had become his new paintbrush. The lines became much more sweeping, swirling and bright against the white background. Beneath the broken ruins of the Headquarters is a sea of congealing blood, a blotchy, browning stain of gore. It is applied so thickly that patches of it rise millimeters off of the wall.

"_Mi_ran_da_'s he_re_, and _he_re, and a tiny bit of her is _her_e," he continues, cheerfully explaining the finer points of his twisted piece of art. "She's _al_ways so _bro_ken, you know, a _com_plete mess, so I _fi_gur_ed_ her _de_ath should be rea_lly_ messy too. She's _ev_er_y_whe_re_!"

The clouds in the picture are cherry red. They are so freshly completed that blood still runs down the wall from them, streaking down the scenery like a sick parody of rain.

"At _fi_rst, I wasn't _su_re what I w_ant_ed to do with L_av_i," the Musician admits, sounding as abashed as a child who reluctantly admits to having been confused. "I tho_ugh_t maybe I'd have his _sku_ll be s_mashed_ in, since his _mem_ory's so good, but that's not really _Lavi_." Kanda can clearly make out the body of the Baka Usagi, prostrate on the banks of the lake, not far from Lenalee. The pointed cross of the Bookman Apprentice's hammer is lodged in his chest. "I de_ci_ded I'd _pi_er_ce_ his _hear_t, since he's not _su_ppo_sed_ to use it _any_way but still does. He tried to _sa_ve _Le_nal_ee_, but…he wasn't _fas_t enough." He giggles again, amused.

A wave appears to be heading toward the ruins to sweep everything away, corpses and all. On the wave is the Earl, locked in battle with a figure dressed in a sweeping cowl. The Earl's perpetual grin is gone, literally torn away from his face, and his right arm is hanging by a few precarious threads of muscle. The handle of his golem, Relo, protrudes from his stomach.

"Kr_ory_ was _poi_soned, so he's only _ash_es. You can't see m_uch_ of him. He took in too much of the _Aku_ma virus from other _peo_ple, and then the st_ars_ started ap_pear_ing and he _cou_ldn't stop it!" A shrill peal of laughter breaks the dull ringing in Kanda's ears, high-pitched guffaws that denote a loss of control, or more accurately a complete lack of it. "I bet he _screa_med 'Eliade!' with his _dy_ing _brea_th, the st_upi_d bat."

Twelve other people, who he assumes must be the Noah excluding the deceased Skin Bolic, sit on pillars, watching the fight intently. The smallest, probably Road, is cheering one of the two on. Kanda notes that they are high up enough that the wave won't touch them.

"I'm f_igh_ting the Earl, ob_viou_sly," he says, voice heavy with malicious glee, quivering with its weight. "I'd win, of _cou_rse, and take my _fam_ily back from the fat bas_tar_d." His tongue flickers out again, rounding his lips as if by habit, and Kanda thinks the freak's imagining the taste of blood on that tongue, smeared across his lips and on his teeth.

Something cold is spreading rapidly through Kanda's stomach as he takes in the macabre picture presented to him. Not necessarily because of the situation itself, or what happened to everyone in the picture-because that's just it, the thing's a fucking picture, so being frightened by such a silly thing would be pathetic, stupid, and all-around pointless-but rather because the real Moyashi would never be capable of such depravity. The pure brutality of the scene, the thoughtfulness given to every depicted death, speaks of a deeply deranged mind, a twisted soul. Momentarily, Kanda doubts any piece of the Moyashi can exist inside such an insidious mind. Surely his soft, gentle persona would be crushed under such immense cruelty, ground so deeply into the endless insanity's recesses that it ceases to exist at all.

The samurai continues to search his gift, finding more and more recognizable corpses the longer he looks at it. Komui, head in his hands, beside his beloved sister. Reever, crushed by rubble. Johnny, hanging from a warped and gnarled tree. Almost every person he's ever seen in the Order is there. Even Link and Rouvelier are within it, being devoured, torn apart by what Kanda guesses are starved dogs. Everyone…except…

"Where am I?" Kanda inquires, realizing that he didn't appear to be anywhere in the picture at all. He doesn't bother demanding anything of the Noah regarding the mess, because he knows the attempt would be fruitless anyway. It always has been.

Light weight drapes itself across his back, and Kanda feels a thin arm wrap itself around his chest. Fingers stroke deftly at his throat, leaving sticky, red stains. The mock gentleness makes his skin crawl. "_Whe_rev_er_ I want you to be, _Ka_nda, d_arl_ing. May_be _in_si_de the Ark…or _may_be the b_otto_m of that la_ke_. I'd be _ha_ppy either way, so I _gu_ess we'll ha_ve_ to wait and _fin_d out."

"Get off of me, you sick bastard," Kanda growls, pushing the clingy Noah off of him. He smirks coldly at the sound of the Noah's skull connecting with the floor when he falls. It dissipates instantly at the sound of giggling.

"So _co_ld, baby," the Musician chuckles, pushing his white bangs out of his face to reveal the pentacle on his forehead, now pitch black. Kanda ignores the halo of crosses pointedly, forcing himself to look into those molten amber orbs, shining with some unbalanced light. "_Frig_id, even. Who's _real_ly sick? The one in _lo_ve or the _sad_ist, hmm?"

"You're a sadist, not me. The only people I hurt are the enemy. And whatever you feel for me isn't love. You're just a fucking nutcase who needs to get the hell out of here."

"Mou, how _ru_de," the Noah pouts, and on the face of Allen Walker it almost looks cute. If not for the dark countenance and the twisted gleam in his eyes, it probably could have been. "I'm only nuts for _you_, _sw_eet_hear_t. And you're a _terr_ible, _terr_ible _hy_po_cri_te. You tell me you want _All_en W_alk_er, but you push me _a_way all the _ti_me and tell me to l_eav_e!" He stands up, wiping imagined dust off of his white pants. "Babe, you can't _ke_ep giving me such _mixe_d s_ig_nals; I might lose _in_ter_est_ in you."

Though his tone is joking, there lies an underlying threat in that sentence. _Keep it up, and I won't talk to anyone at all. You lose me for good, and the Black Order's screwed. Shut up and behave, or get the hell out and suffer the consequences._

But threats are Kanda's forte, and this is a weak threat, if it can be considered one at all. To him, these words mean nothing at all. He won't stop digging, won't comply with anything this bastard says, because he knows that somewhere inside of that twisted mind lies the real Moyashi.

OoO

_Allen looked pale as he stood beside Lavi. Amid all the black uniforms, he appeared a ghost among them, a Soldier of God lost to battle. The dark rings around his eyes suggested a sleepless night. He looked up at the podium, or rather the man behind it, with an almost wild fear, though Kanda had no idea why. Sure, Rouvelier was a bastard, but unless the Moyashi really had done something stupid, he had nothing to be afraid of. If he had, he deserved whatever he got. End of story. _

_A meeting had been called early that morning, not long after the remaining members of the Headquarters stepped into the new building. They had been given enough time to see their new rooms and drop off their belongings, before they were directed to the great hall. Waiting for them had been a very serious, stern-faced Rouvelier, his loyal dog Howard Link not far behind him. Nobody had been aware of the meeting, and if anyone knew what it was about, they weren't speaking up. _

_But from the look on Allen's face, and the gazes darting to him occasionally from one Komui Lee, Kanda had easily deduced that it had something to do with the baka Moyashi. He had been placed under suspicion not too long ago after all, so perhaps everyone was finally going to learn what it was all about. _

_When Rouvelier cleared his throat and his sharp eyes swept the room, whatever murmuring had been going on between the members of the crowd was extinguished. In the hushed silence, Allen looked as though a funeral march had begun to play. _

_"By now, it is common knowledge that an investigation has been underway regarding the Exorcist Allen Walker," Rouvelier began, deep voice holding no measure of comfort, only firm resolve. "I have called you all here this morning to announce that the case has been completed, and a discovery has been made that all of the Black Order should be aware of. This should be taken with the utmost seriousness."_

_Whispers once again filled the room, and their toll on Allen was almost as obvious as the affect the stares had on him. His hands were twitching toward a hood that he no longer had. His eyes were closed tightly, and from Kanda's vantage point the grip he had on Lavi's arm looked painful. _

_Rouvelier seemed to revel in the stir he had caused, and he allowed the silence to return on its own before he began to speak again. "After several weeks of careful investigation and discussions with General Marian Cross we have come to the conclusion that Allen Walker holds the Memories of the Fourteenth Noah. We do not know when it will occur, but over time the Memories will erode the host, and Allen Walker will cease to exist. In his place will be a Noah of unknown status in the war." _

_A dull roar of panicked voices replaced the previous whispering, as well as a scrambling of nervous people attempting to move away from the accused. Allen was drowning amidst all the negative attention placed upon him. If not for Lavi's grip on him, the boy probably would have sunk to his knees. His breathing was heavy and labored, his skin so white it was almost translucent. Few looked at him and saw his suffering; their eyes held either contempt or fear. In their eyes, an enemy has been found amongst their ranks, a traitor in disguise. _

_Kanda himself felt more disbelief than anything else. The Moyashi, becoming a Noah? It didn't seem possible for such a brightly burning figure to become something so dramatically different from itself. Could something like the Fourteenth's Memories really twist Allen's smile so profoundly? _

"_It is due to the Fourteenth's unknown loyalties that we will allow Allen Walker to remain within the Black Order, though for the safety of his fellows, he will be heavily restricted. By order of the Pope, at least two Exorcists must be present with him at all times, and his room must be guarded while he sleeps." Allen flinched as if struck. "Unless he is on a mission, his food intake will be restricted, as well as his Innocence." He looked vaguely ill as well. "When on missions he will be accompanied by at least three Exorcists, who will be allowed to use any force necessary to return him to Headquarters should he attempt to escape." Allen was swaying unsteadily on his feet, subject to gravity and toppling body strength. "Once the Fourteenth overtakes him, he will be locked away, and unless negotiations can be made, executed."_

_With a desperate gasp for air, Allen Walker collapsed._

OoO

"_Ooo_oh, you _brou_ght _tea_ for me!"

The coo comes from the small, round table in the center of the room, and Kanda curses himself for getting so caught up he hadn't noticed the Noah move. Significantly drained of power or not, he knows the Musician is more than capable of killing, if he so desires. The science staff learned that the hard way when one of the newer recruits, frustrated at the Fourteenth's actions and childish whims, began to mock him while administering his daily medications. After nearly twenty minutes had passed and nobody exited the cell, the rest of the department grew suspicious, and opened the door to find he had suffocated on his own tongue, which had been ripped out and lodged down his trachea. The other scientist that had been in the cell with him was still alive, but his jaw was mercilessly fractured. The Musician was using the blood left on his fingers to draw on the unconscious scientist's face.

When asked why he had done what he had, the Noah had calmly claimed, "They were _tea_sing me," as if such an explanation more than made up for his assault. In his mind, it was probably just retribution.

Kanda sits at the painted-white table and with a snap of the Fourteenth's good hand, a delicate china cup and saucer are in front of him. He glowers at the boy sitting across from him, who grins toothily in return. The bastard is mocking him, mocking all of them; it is through small demonstrations of his abilities like this that the Noah shows them that while he may be stuck in the room; his power has not been entirely stripped away. It is a large wonder why he hasn't materialized anything more dangerous by now, though it is theorized that he enjoys playing this game with the Black Order, likes holding his capabilities above their heads, having them constantly squirm and wonder, _will he this time_?

The Musician pours the tea into both of their cups with practiced ease, singing some nonsense song under his breath. While doing so his eyes-despicable, tarnished gold, glinting with a malignant cruelty all their own-pierce into Kanda's orbs like sharpened blades, face calculating. When Kanda's glare narrows, he hears the boy giggle under his breath and cover it childishly with a cough.

"Mmm, _on_e lump or t_wo_, K_andy_ baby?" the Musician asks in a purr, already placing several into his own cup of tea. The question has been asked several times already, every time Kanda comes for one of their daily visits, and the answer is always the same. Rolling his eyes, the Exorcist takes the cup and sips at his tepid, completely plain tea.

"How _booor_ing," he jibes while pouring cream into his already sweetened tea. He stirs his drink without class or consideration, making several loud _tink_s with every rapid revolution of the small spoon. His end result is a very frothy, thick liquid, barely resembling tea at all. "You _real_ly should add a _li_ttle _vari_ety to your life, _hon_ey. People aren't _mean_t to live off of soba, t_emp_ura and un_sweet_ened green _tea_."

"And your liquid heart-attack is better?" Kanda retaliates caustically, raising his eyebrow with the air of a particularly peeved critic.

The Musician licks his spoon with deliberate slowness, the pink muscle wrapping around it, moving up and down, removing every trace of his altered tea with an implicative flourish. Before returning into his mouth, it traverses his deep gray, smirking lips once more. "_Mu_ch better. It's got _flav_or, t_ast_e. It's _swee_t and mu_ch_, mu_ch_ b_ett_er than yours, I'm _su_re." He slurps from the very top of his cup enthusiastically as if to prove his point.

"It's got more sugar and cream than it has tea, and you drink it like a pig." Kanda sneers in disgust as several droplets escape from the cup and dot the white table. Suddenly, the thought of drinking the rest of his tea makes his stomach sour. He pushes it, saucer and cup, away from himself.

The Noah snorts into his tea at the remark, spraying the liquid everywhere in front of him, including Kanda's face and upper body. He seems hardly aware of the fact though, too busy laughing into his cup, nearly choking in the fit.

"Ahaahaa_hoo_ooo, K(koff)-Kanda, _swe_etie, that's not very _ni_ce," he says when he calms down, placing his cup onto his saucer delicately. "I am no _pi_g… I'm very _hum_an, a-_than_k a-_yo_u. Now you…you _Ex_or_cists_ are the _an_imals. _You_'re a _bu_nch of sh_eep_, led by dogs and heading _straigh_t to the _slaugh_ter h_ou_se." He snickers, taking another short sip of tea, while Kanda glares at him, habitually reaching for the sword he had to leave in his room. "You'_re_ all so _stu_pid, _clue_lessly _wa_lking _for_ward without _ques_tion, getting _ki_lled for some _fa_lse God, _sac_rifi_cing_ your _pe_lts for a _dis_gus_ting _breed that'd _ea_t you fas_ter_ than _wol_ves."

Pointing his spoon at Kanda's enraged face, the Musician smirks again, circling it in the air. "Y_ouuuu_ are all _foo_ls, and _th_at is why I'll _ki_ll you all t_oo_. _Lib_erat_ion! To_ put you _pa_thet_ic_ litt_le_ sh_eep_ies back where you be_lo_-"

"_Shut up_," Kanda hisses quietly, rounding the table to stand in front of the Musician, who lay sprawled on the ground belly-down, giggling and holding his cheek where the Exorcist had punched him. He rolls the Noah over with his foot, digging the toe of his boot into the thin figure's hip.

"Soo_ooo_ _rou_gh, babe. Did I hit a _ner_ve, per_haps_?"

"I _said_ shut up!" Kanda kicks the Noah soundly in his gut, watching him sputter on his laughter and curl into himself. The pain seems to do nothing but cause him amusement, doesn't seem to hurt him in the least. "You know _nothing_."

Yes, nothing, because he speaks from the body of someone who had cared so much for a better future, someone who fought for everything with a soul and a heart, no matter how terrible or cruel the person. The Fourteenth's ignorance stains his being, twists his grin into the fang-filled mouth of a snake, and laces his words with poison. He dares to say the Black Order is composed of fools when he is nothing but a fool himself.

"Oooo_ooo_h, but I _do_. I know so _mu_ch- so _mu_ch more than you _fo_ols." His laughter becomes something like a shriek, a high-pitched coupling of guffaws pulled straight from the darkest bowels of his mind. "You all walk in a _stra_ight line, un_inte_rrup_ted_, en_vi_sioning some peace_ful_ to_mo_rr_ow_ that'll _ne_ver happen! The world isn't _ma_de li_ke_ that, d_arl_ing."

"Shut up!" Grabbing onto the boy's shoulders, Kanda slams the Noah into one of the white cell's walls hard, against his sick, twisted picture. Flakes of dried blood fall to the floor like rusted snow. The vermillion clouds stain the tips and back of his white hair a brilliant, vivid pink.

"_W_hy, be_cau_se you know I'm _ri_ght? Pe_ople_ aren't un_ite_d, and they ne_ver_ will be. They'_re_ just a bu_nch_ of mo_nst_ers. They st_art_ wars beca_use_ they have _di_ffer_ent_ op_ini_ons, or don't _ag_ree with _eac_h oth_er_. They don't _ca_re that th_ous_ands are _dy_ing, that _inn_oce_nt_ ci_vil_ians are ca_ught_ in the cr_oss_fi_re_." Kanda's eyes connect with those of a madman, smiling inanely as he speaks of atrocities and human errors, as if the thought brings him some perverse pleasure. Subconsciously, as the Musician's laugh begins to roar wildly once again, his grip begins to tighten as his hatred builds, the blood in his veins boiling below the surface of his skin.

"A-and here…he_re_'s the p_un_ch_ l_ine: it'll _ne_ver end! _You_ Exor_cists_ are try_ing_ to help a race _th_at'll be k_ill_ing _each_ other off _any_way, a _bu_nch of tr_ain_ed dogs th_at _are bet_ter _off _de_ad. So re_all_y, when I…" He licks his lips, and his tongue clicks wetly against his teeth. "Wh_en_ I…as y_ou_ ca_lled_ it…_slau_-slaugh­_tered_ pe_ople_ in that _to_wn, I was ju_st_ hel_ping_ them _ou_t of the _cy_cle, sa_ving_ them from a _mon_oto_ny_ of pa_in_ and _su_ffer_ing_! I'm a _he_ro com_par_ed to you _Ex_or_ci_-"

Kanda does not know exactly when, but at some point between the last leg of the Noah's speech and the abrupt cut-off of all sound, his vision became tinted red, as if a vermillion filter has been placed over his eyes. In this cherry haze his anger flows like a savage river, roaring and wild, untamable in its ferocity and brute strength. He does not recognize the actions of his body; he lets the raging torrent pull his limbs as they please.

Something has snapped, or more accurately, the Musician, in his blind preaching, accidentally severed something within Kanda, something holding his building rage back. Now free of its confines, the pent up emotions surge with the speed and strength of something with months of built-up pressure behind it. The force is unyielding and physical, like rapids slamming against a boulder in their path over and over again until it is eroded smooth, smaller, a finally, away.

It is the righteous vengeance of an entire town killed, coming from a soldier who could not defend them, who could only watch the bodies pile up as they fought hopelessly against a demon born from the fire and brimstone of hell itself.

It is the raw desperation for things to return to normal, to kill off the outsider and welcome back the one they had forced out. The crave for silver, the hatred of gold, braided together and tied around a thin neck like a noose, pulling steadily tighter, tighter, forcing out air and leaving no opening for more.

"_Shut up_," Kanda snarls, eyes past the point of angry, past the point of rage, lost in something almost as black and hideous as the crosses along the Noah's forehead. His hands tighten their hold around the gray clown's neck, crushing down on his windpipe without mercy, refusing him breath. The Exorcist slams the struggling body, for once not laughing, for the first time ever completely silent, against the wall again, rubbing him against the bloody canvas, forcing away the gory scene, using the Noah like a towel. "Shut the _hell_ up, and get out of his body!"

The Noah tries to mouth something, but between the red in his eyes and the rage coursing through his blood, Kanda can't make it out. A desperate gurgling escapes those parted lips as the hand with thin, pianist fingers loosens its grip on Kanda's wrist. Golden eyes begin to grow hazy, their lids fluttering sporadically, staying closed longer with each repetition.

"Your family is _nothing_." Kanda shakes the asphyxiating Noah in his grip wildly when chocking wheezes, suspiciously like laughter, reach his ears. The boy's head whips with his movements like a rag doll, his body growing limp rapidly. "You are nothing, too."

Kanda drops the barely conscious Noah with a sneer, kicking him in the back not long after he connects harshly with the cold ground. A dark bruise is already forming around his gray throat, a thick blackish-purple ring covering it nearly entirely. His breathing is greedy and far too rapid, the black of his eyes dilated, leaving almost no gold.

After several minutes the rising and falling of the slim chest evens out, and the Noah begins to rise shakily to his feet, using the wall that sports the stains of his assault as support for his quivering legs. There is no smile on his lips. No laughter rests on his tongue, waiting to be released. He looks ill with madness, as if when Kanda scraped his back against his macabre painting he scraped what little remained of his humanity off along with it. When he licks his lips he leaves behind a shimmering trail of liquid red.

Then he growls, truly growls, like the wild animal Kanda had always thought him to be. With a speed never before demonstrated by him, he throws himself onto the Exorcist, who, too stunned by what had just transpired, could not move away quickly enough. They crash onto the table, breaking the delicate china cups and saucers, their shards piercing into Kanda's back. Their combined weight and the extra force exerted on the table are too much for the legs to handle, and they splinter.

"Getawaygetawaygetawaygetaway_getawaygetawaygetaway_**getawaygetawaygetawayGETAWAY!**" Disoriented by the fall and the burning pain beneath him, it takes several seconds for him to process the Musician on top of him, shrieking and clawing at his chest with his free hand. It takes a surprising amount of force to push the madman off of him, who takes only seconds to right himself before lunging at Kanda again.

The Exorcist dodges this time, and catches the boy by the collar of his shirt. He whips him into the wall once more, using the length of his arms as a means of standing as far away from the Noah's clawing hand and snapping teeth as possible.

"_**How d**__ar__**e you**__!_"the Noah hisses wildly, barely comprehensible in his animalistic rage. "_**Let me go! You ha**__ve__** no ri**__ght__** to **__to__**uch me!**_" In his struggles he cranes his neck nearly to the point of breaking, and with a final wrench, closes enough distance between them to sink his teeth into Kanda's hand. He does so without restraint, piercing straight through the skin and drawing forth blood, pulling, tearing and ripping at the flesh like a hungry predator with the first taste of copper and salt on their tongue.

Kanda flings him across the room, and hears the satisfying thud of the Fourteenth's body connecting with the opposite wall, then the second of him falling to the floor.

Cradling his hand, Kanda is surprised to find the Noah sitting slumped on the wall, breath ragged, blood staining his face and hair in flesh, glimmering patches, shimmering on his lips like gloss. The look in his eyes can only be described as lost, whatever beast that had been released having receded and left him an empty doll. His white clothing in hopelessly blotched varying shades of red, soaked in blood, and probably tea, the thermos of which lying at the base of his left foot.

Slowly, he begins to chuckle. It is soft at first, breathless and weak, audible only because of the room's total silence. But as the light begins to return to those eyes, the chuckle becomes a frantic giggling, warbling and harsh and wet with the blood spilling from the ruby cavern of his mouth. Giggling turns to peals of helpless laughter, uncontrollable laughter that brings tears streaming down his cheeks. The Noah beats his hand into the floor, rolls in on himself, and smashes his head one, two, three times upon his bent knees.

"You are so _ab_us_ive_, sw_eet_he_art_," the Noah wheezes out between his bouts of laughter. Somehow Kanda knows that, despite his laughter, despite his return to his typical mannerisms, something vast has changed within the Musician. Like the Noah had broken something in him, Kanda realizes he had managed to do the same. "I just…I _ju_st don't th_ink _I can ha_nd_le th_ese_ _vi_olent little _out_bur_sts_ of yours any_more_, babe. May_be_ we sho_uld_ see other _pe_ople."

"Stop acting like we were in some sort of relationship," Kanda growls, because that's all he can say amid his ransacked thoughts. He can't seem to grasp much at the moment. Adrenalin pounds through him like a drug, inducing a dizzying whirl he can't escape from. He can't think, can barely force air into his lungs, and those golden eyes stab at his innards like knives dipped in acid, burning everything they touch away.

Rising to his feet slowly and clutching his gut, the Musician grins at him. His normally white teeth are vaguely pink. "I th_ink_ that it's _ti_me for you to _lea_ve, K_and_a." He waves, fingers together and hand flapping with each energetic movement and it looks almost like he's trying to force the samurai away with self-generated winds. His eyes border on desperate.

Some part of Kanda, the part that does not wish to speak to this psychopath, the part that never has wanted to go to and constantly wishes for escape from his cell, compels him to move to the heavy door. He raps on it with his knuckles loudly, and waits for the familiar locks to begin releasing. They are nearly deafening in their endlessness, and Kanda cannot recall ever having to listen to the entire process. Usually the Fourteenth would make things far too loud to hear it all.

The door opens with a soft hiss, and Kanda pushes it open so he can leave.

"Be su_re_ to tell the _lo_vely little lab _ra_ts that I wa_nt_ so_me_one _el_se to _vi_sit me fr_om_ now on, ne _Ka_n_da_?"

Kanda grunts an affirmative, annoyed that the Fourteenth Noah, a prisoner until they can somehow force Allen Walker back into his rightful body, feels that it has such rights. Nonetheless, for the sake of him pitching a fit otherwise, he will tell the scientists, despite knowing the Noah will just change his mind in a day or two, and ask for him back, like always. He needs a break from the bastard anyway; his laughter makes Kanda strangely tired. Walking out, the door closes behind Kanda, mechanical whirs quick to follow.

The table thumps as it is pushed into a corner of the cell, stained and broken, dripping with tea and cream, encrusted with bits of sugar and no longer useful.

oOoOo

A/N- Not sure how I feel about this first chapter. I'm a little mixed, I guess. I love parts and feel so uneasy about other places in it, but I've been wrestling with it for hours now, and decided I might as well post it. Tell me what you think, and critique me if you believe something needs fixing. Maybe it's too rushed?

On another note, to all Yullen fans, check out the bottom of my profile or the Yullen Pride forum I made if you're interested in trying to create a fan-organized Yullen week. I certainly am!


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